


My Day Will Come

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen, POV Selyse, just FYI in case that's not your thing, this is a very Selyse-centric fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life and times of Selyse Florent, lady wife of Stannis Baratheon.</p><p>Chapter 1: The morning of Selyse's wedding, her aunt Melara reminds her of the ways of the world, while Selyse attempts to do the same for her cousin Delena.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Day Will Come

The weather was very fine the day Selyse Florent was supposed to wed Stannis Baratheon, the sun shining brightly, not one threatening dark cloud to be seen in the clear sky.

“It is a sign from the gods,” Delena said, drawing the curtain and letting the morning light in. “Your wedding is blessed, blessed, blessed. The Maiden herself is smiling at you this very moment, Selyse.”

Still lying on the bed they had shared the night before, Selyse groaned and shielded her eyes from the sudden brightness. “Close the curtain and come back to bed. It’s too early in the morning to put up with your eager chatter.”

Delena stared at her cousin and bedmate disbelievingly. “But it’s your wedding day! Aren’t you excited?”

Of course she was excited. Selyse was so excited she was afraid her heart would burst. She was so impatient for her wedding vow to finally be taken, she had recited the words in her head close to a hundred times last night alone. But she had learned long ago to keep her excitement to herself. A pretty and comely maiden like Delena may trouble the world with her excited mutterings and her inane chatters, but not someone like Selyse. Not someone –

Heart pounding with nervous anticipation, Selyse’s fingers grazed the familiar spot north of her upper lip for the tell-tale sign. It was there, all right, the hair, that blasted hair; she could feel it. Lady Selyse, the mustache lady. Men wagered when she would finally grow a beard, laughed when they speculated if what’s between her legs was as hairy as her upper lip.

How could this be, Selyse wailed quietly, trying to hide her distress from Delena. She had spent countless hours yesterday and the day before plucking each and every hair until her fingers were numb. She had prayed and prayed, lit endless candles and muttered ceaseless entreaties to the Seven. _Please god, let me not be ugly, just this once, so that I will not shame my husband on our wedding day._

She had not prayed for beauty. She had not prayed to look pretty. She knew even the gods were beyond that sort of miracle.

The panic overtook Selyse. “Bring me a mirror, Delena. Quick!”

Delena was staring at her. “You can hardly see it, Selyse,” Delena tried to reassure her cousin. “It’s very faint.”

“The mirror, Delena. _Please_.” How Selyse _hated_ the desperation she heard in her own voice.

The mirror only confirmed her worst fear, establishing beyond any doubt what her fingers had already made her suspect.

“No no no no no no!” Selyse wailed, out loud now.

Delena fluttered around the room, looking flustered. “Should I call aunt Melara? She would know what to do.”

Selyse was aghast at the thought of Melara seeing her in this state. She could already see Melara’s cool, disdainful gaze as she stared down at her husband’s niece. “Not much we _can_ do, is there? If the gods do not see fit to make you beautiful, what can we, mere mortals, do?”

Selyse grabbed hold of Delena before she could leave the room to fetch their aunt. “No. I don’t need aunt Melara. I am fine now,” she said firmly.

“Would that the gods had blessed us with a third daughter,” Selyse had overheard Melara saying to uncle Alester. “A king’s brother is a much bigger prize than a Tarly, or even a Hightower.”

“If I had known earlier about the king’s plan, I would not have been so quick to accept Lord Hightower’s proposal for our Rhea,” Alester replied. His younger daughter Rhea had only been wedded to Leyton Hightower for half a year; his older daughter Melessa had been married to Randyll Tarly for many years. “Selyse would do fine. Or well enough for our purpose, at least. That child knows her duty. She knows that she must promote the interest of House Florent with her husband and with the king at all times.”

“And are you certain that it is _Selyse_ the Baratheons want? Have you told the king and his brother that you have another niece? One who is not so … peculiar-looking.”

“Lord Stannis has seen them both, when I took them to court last year. And it was Lord Stannis who picked Selyse. The king’s only dictate was that his brother should wed a Florent.”

Melara’s mouth was wide open, with amazement. “You mean he has taken a liking towards Selyse? Surely that is not possible. I know they say that Lord Stannis is very peculiar, but even so …”

Alester shook his head. “I doubt it has anything to do with liking. His only question to me was – which of the girls is the older? Because _‘precedence should always be given to the older one, as is their right,_ ’ Lord Stannis said. The king seemed most amused by that remark. Lord Stannis looked about ready to strangle his brother. It must be in reference to some private quarrel between the two Baratheon brothers.”

“Well, age _would_ be Selyse’s only advantage over Delena,” Melara said dryly. “I suppose I would have to disappoint Delena and tell her she is not to wed a king’s brother after all.”

Delena was not disappointed; she was relieved. Very relieved. She was _‘in love, in love, in love, body and soul, heart and mind,_ ’ with a knight in her father’s household. Ser Hosman Nocross, Delena had told Selyse in the strictest confidence, after she had made Selyse swear a blood oath not to tell anyone. Anyone at all.

“Your father would never agree to it,” Selyse told Delena. “Ser Hosman is only a household knight, not even a landed knight, let alone a lord. More to the point, Uncle Alester would never agree to it. He would want you to marry a lord from a noble house, to form another great alliance for House Florent.”

And Alester Florent’s will was the one reigning supreme in Brightwater Keep, for he was the head of House Florent, their lord and master.

“I don’t care what uncle Alester wants,” Delena declared, her hands clenching and unclenching in a dramatic gesture. “I am not a horse to be traded by my uncle or my father. I am not a prize to be given away, all for uncle Alester’s greater glory.”

Selyse sighed and regarded her cousin with pity. Pity mixed with extreme frustration. Silly child. Silly, silly child. This was what came of listening to too many songs and too many tales of romance and true love, of valiant knights who came to rescue maidens from evil dragons.

“It is not for uncle Alester’s greater glory. It is for the good of House Florent. Or have you forgotten that you are a Florent? And it is for our own good as well. Would you not want to be wed to a good husband? A husband from a good House who will protect you from harm and safeguard your reputation.”

A husband who will stop the tongues wagging about Selyse’s hair - the hair on her face and the hair between her legs. A husband who will silence the cruel laughter and the snide jeers directed towards her.

_I will be the king’s good-sister, the wife of a highborn lord from one of the Great Houses, mistress of my own castle._

They will not dare laugh at her at all, soon.

It was Delena who was looking at Selyse with pity this time. “Our definitions of a good husband differ, cousin.”

“And what will happen when your father throws Ser Hosman out of his household, as he surely would when he finds out about your foolish entanglement? Will you follow Ser Hosman as he becomes a hedge knight? Will you sleep outside in the rough with him? Bear his child in a dirty stable alongside the horses? Die in the cold with him, all in the name of love?”

Delena looked stricken. “You … you make it sound so horrible. It will not come to that. It will not!”

“Don’t be a child, Delena. Of course it will. Women in our position do not marry household knights. Not unless they’re broken, not unless they’re damaged goods.”

Not even a woman in their position who looked as ugly as Selyse would be allowed to marry household knights raised up from nothing. Even before the proposal that had shocked the whole of the Reach (the king marrying off his brother to a Florent was a cause for wonder and amazement enough; that it should be the ugly niece chosen for the honor was the talk of every castle and every holdfast from Highgarden to the Arbor), uncle Alester had been working tirelessly to find a husband for Selyse, among the third, fourth, fifth and lesser sons of the minor lords of Westeros.

Delena had not mentioned Ser Hosman Norcross to Selyse since their argument that day. This morning, however, as they were both lying in bed, next to each other, perhaps for the last time, Delena whispered, “If Hosman could serve Lord Stannis, or the king, he could prove his worth and his valor. He would not have to be a household knight forever. He could be a landed knight, maybe even a lord someday. Uncle Alester would not be able to object to our marriage then.”

Selyse knew what Delena was expecting from her. “ _I will speak to my husband_ ,” Selyse was supposed to say to her cousin. “ _I will convince Stannis to take Ser Hosman into his service._ ”

Except … Selyse had not spoken to Stannis Baratheon at all. Not once. How was she to convince him to do anything at all? She closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping. Pretended that she had not heard Delena’s plea for her beloved.

The sound of the door opening shocked both of them into a sitting position. Melara. Who else? She would never knock before entering her nieces’ room.

“Rhea needs your help with her hair, Delena,” Melara quickly dismissed the younger of her two nieces. She stared at Selyse, top to bottom, as if inspecting a horse about to be sold in the market, sighing with resignation when she spotted Selyse’s upper lip.

“I have plucked all the hair I could,” Selyse said defensively, before her aunt could start her litany of complaints.

Melara raised an eyebrow. “I suppose we will need to cover it with more face-powder. Rhea would know what to do. Leave it to her.” She sat on the bed abruptly, startling Selyse. “What’s this I hear about you wanting your brother to walk you down the aisle and remove your maiden cloak? It is Alester’s right, as your poor father’s oldest brother. Not Imry’s.”

How could Melara have known? It was only Selyse’s secret wish, a wish she knew could never come true, a wish she had confided to no one but her brother Imry himself, in whispered words in dark corners. A servant must have been watching. And listening. There were always servants watching, listening, and reporting to Alester and Melara in Brightwater Keep.

“I … no … of course I am honored for uncle Alester to take my father’s place,” Selyse replied.

“You should be. You should be grateful to your uncle as well. He has worked very hard to find a suitable husband for you. It is not an easy task, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Selyse said dryly.

“Watch your tone, Selyse. You are apt to be too sharp with your words. They say your intended husband is the same. They say Stannis Baratheon’s tongue is as sharp as his sword. Perhaps it is. But he is a man, and a man with a sharp tongue is likely to be praised for his truth-telling and his courage, or even his wit. A woman with a sharp tongue is more likely to be hated, to be called a shrew and a bitch. Don’t you ever forget that, Selyse.”

_A woman with a sharp tongue like yours, aunt?_

“I won’t forget, aunt Melara,” Selyse said, forcing herself to sound sufficiently contrite and mindful of the advice. To sound sufficiently grateful and submissive.

 _My day will come_. The day will come when she would not have to sound like an obliged beggar grateful for any scraps they would condescend to throw her way. Soon. It will be soon. Selyse waited to embrace her wedding and her new position like a love-sick maiden waiting to embrace her lover.


End file.
